


vanilla twilight

by helo572



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Exiled Alistair - Freeform, F/M, Gift Exchange, Hurt/Comfort, Inquisition Agents (Dragon Age), Missions Gone Wrong, Warden in Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helo572/pseuds/helo572
Summary: Inquisition agents Alistair Theirin and Finell Mahariel get more than they barged for whilst scouting out a Venatori camp. Written for the Dragon Age 2017 Gift Exchange formureh!





	vanilla twilight

**Author's Note:**

> [owl city - vanilla twilight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIz2K3ArrWk)
> 
> i really enjoyed writing this! i hope you enjoy mureh and that i did your finell and her alistair justice ^^; a big thank you also goes to the lovely [effe](http://effelants.tumblr.com/) for being my loyal and immensely helpful beta!

Her heart beats loudly in her ears, a steady rhythm of  _ one-two _ - _ one-two _ - _ one-two _ coaxing her footsteps faster as they run. A quick glance over her shoulder confirms all she needs to know: Alistair is still at her heels. His hood has been forsaken by the wind, revealing his bronzed face and the brown curls which bounce in time with his heavy footfalls - behind him are the Venatori agents pursuing them across the grounds of the Manor, swords clanging on their belts and magic buzzing through the air, hot and electric. Finell pushes on, beckoning her fellow agent by meeting his eyes.

 

Another lightning bolt fizzles next to her head, and her hair stands on end even as she ducks to avoid it. Alistair yelps as a fireball is flung - the heat hot on even Finell’s back - but it fizzes towards the ground with a  _ bang _ . 

 

_ One-two-one-two - _ but Mythal is kind. A corner beckons them up ahead, making Finell’s heart leap. Neither agent hesitates before skidding around it, taking off again up the shallow slope. Their footsteps echo on the cobblestone, which quickly turns to solid, earthy ground as the pathway opens up into a magnificent garden. The familiar ground beneath Finell’s feet entice her steps faster - that, and the seemingly endless lines of trees, winding far above their heads towards the black night sky.

 

“Break,” she gasps to Alistair, and, without another moment’s thought, darts between the trees. 

 

If this were the Brecilian Forest, she’d know which tree to take refuge in, or which had the sturdiest scouting perch or hideout for lining up the perfect shot. Here, instinct is all she has. She comes to rest against the thick trunk of an old oak - not the tallest of trees in the Manor’s collection but impressive all the same. 

 

Here, she can see the mouth of the orchard, where the two Ventori agents - a mage and a warrior - linger. They have stopped at the entrance, the torch between them casting an eerie orange glow across the nearby trees. With a nod at each other, they begin to stroll through the courtyard, torch raised, making their bodies shape solemn shadows across the ground.

 

_ One-two-one-two…. one-two… one-two  _ \- and there is Alistair, a few rows away, hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath. He is easy to spot under Finell’s trained eye; she has long-since memorised the shape of his silhouette. He doesn’t see her, but he does notice the orange glow of the Ventori as they weave between the trees, winding through like a set of slow dancers. 

 

_ Onetwo…. onetwo…. one-two…. one-two…. _

 

Alistair flattens himself against the trunk, and Finell peers from behind the ancient oak. They both wait. A glance back at the entrance confirms all hope is not lost; the cobblestone pathway is unguarded for now. Perhaps the Venatori did not have time to call for reinforcements, or perhaps they think they’re hunting simple thieves. Losing them in the trees is simple, if they can only stay hidden.

 

She takes a deep breath and then another as the torchlight gravitates towards Alistair. The yellow and orange hues draw out long shadows from the trees, accusative like the sword hung in the warrior’s hand. For a moment, it appears they might pass over his hiding spot, but the warrior makes an sudden, abrupt turn on their heel and casts the torch over the wood of the tree trunk. Finell can only guess why, but it sets her heart on edge and her eyes glued to Alistair’s form pressed against the tree.

 

The light slowly loops around the trunk as the pair investigates, torch raised high. When the light casts across his hidden form, there’s a split second of hesitation, and then he runs. Her eyes widen as the scene unfolds: the Venatori shout, taking pursuit, and the air is quickly charged with the taste of electricity. Alistair is quick, dodging their bolts, but the last clips him on the shoulder before he can weave between the trees. It’s electricity, blue and hot, but what’s worse is that Finell hears him yell - and he collapses into the dirt.

 

_ One _ …. Bathed in the darkness, she takes an arrow from her quiver and begins a chase of her own.  _ Two _ …. The first arrow lands in the mage’s chest, and they crumble in the dirt next to where they stood over Alistair.  _ One _ …. The second arrow misses, but her bow does not, slammed hard into the warrior’s nose from out of the darkness. He stumbles, surprised, but raises his sword in a quick recovery.  _ One-two…. One-two….  _ Their eyes meet. Then, again, there is battle: quick as Finell stabs her small dagger into his eye, in a parry right after his first swing.

 

And there is Alistair, shakily lifting himself off the ground. Relief settles into her chest - he’s still alive. “Ali?” She sets a hand on his back, eyes drawn immediately to the charred shoulder of his armor. It looks painful, with the criss-cross of burned, inflamed skin beneath. All expected markings of a lightning bolt, plus the red hot pain that streaks across Alistair’s face as he sits up.

 

“Hey,” he breathes, brown eyes meeting her own, before they wander down to the bodies a few feet away. “You…?”

 

“Me.” She had no choice. Even if it compromised their cover here, it was worth it to keep Alistair safe.

 

He seems equally relieved, sagging against the tree trunk. He holds his injured shoulder carefully, his arm hugged to his chest and his eyes glassy but aware. “Thank you,” he breathes. “Now you…. didn’t happen to bring an injury kit...” He adjusts himself against the trunk, wincing. “-did you…? Pretty please, tell me you did.”

 

Since the Blight, Finell had never gone anywhere without one. Elfroot could only do so much for darkspawn-related injuries. But it was the unease that settled over her here, still neck-deep in enemy territory, the rest of their fates unknown. There could be reinforcements on the way, or the torchlight dwindling on the ground next to the fallen Venatori could have them identified by any number of patrols.

 

Their mission was compromised enough. Who knew intelligence could go so wrong? Looking down at Alistair now, shivering slightly, eyes glassy with pain, made her question once again if this was the  _ right _ thing to do. The Inquisition. The whole world-saving business  _ again _ .

 

She nods. “But first, we need to get out of here. Can you walk?”

 

Alistair seems insulted by the question, albeit mockingly. “Psh, can I walk. Of  _ course _ I can walk. But I wouldn’t mind if you, ah, let me lean on you. Just a little.” Those glassy eyes shroud over again as he shifts, grimacing again. “Shoulder is…  _ ow _ , uh, giving me a bit of a twinge, that’s all.”

 

Getting Alistair to his feet is easy enough, but he wavers against her and, with their height difference, it’s difficult to trust that Finell can catch him should he start listing. The comforting rhythm of his heart next to her ear assures her he’s fine, solid next to her. She starts slow, setting them off towards the mouth of the orchard.  _ One-two…. one-two…. one-two…. one-two….  _ His breaths are not as comforting, turning more and more ragged the closer they get to the pathway, making her wonder if the jagged bolts of lightning had stopped at his shoulder.

 

As they had been when they entered, the grounds were empty save for the dotted lamps across the stretches of the Manor and the twisting hedges lining the entrance. The Venatori patrol they ran into must have purely been bad luck. With Mythal’s blessing, the Inquisition’s cover here was still intact while conducting their surveillance of the Venatori.

 

“Can you…. slow down? It’s-” Alistair stumbles, and it takes all of Finell’s strength to keep them from crashing to the ground. Panting, he leans heavily against her, head hung and eyes closed. His heart races in her ear:  _ one-two one-two one-two one-two - _ “Sorry,” he apologises, “just hurting. I know we need to get out of here.”

 

“We will,” she replies, her thumb scraping subconsciously across his back as he steadies himself. His heart doesn’t slow, but his breaths do. “We’re almost there.”

 

“Damned bastards, the lot of them. The Venatori, the Red Templars,  _ Corypheus _ .” Alistair set the pace this time, muttering, “making even scouting work hard.  _ Seriously _ , I walk into something sharp or hot every time I leave that stupid castle.”

 

Finell has to snort, the banter a welcome distraction from the hammering of Alistair’s heart against his chest. They need to set down soon and get his shoulder treated. “Maybe we wind you up in cotton again.”

 

“That is a part of your whole ‘accident prone’ joke with Leliana, and I’m not having a  _ bite _ of it. No, I’m telling you, the whole of Thedas is out to get me.” His voice nearly cracks; they both hear it.

 

“Good thing I’m here to catch you at the end of it,” she says, gently now, like the steps she starts taking across the final stretch of courtyard. It is still quiet, eerily so, and the unease pushes her to speed up despite Alistair’s quickly-tiring feet.

 

“Aw, so sentimental,” he croons, then clears his throat. “I  _ do _ love it when you get all sweet like that. Reminds me….  _ Oof _ -” This time he  _ does _ list to the ground, one knee collapsing around from under him. They narrowly miss the large bush lining the entrance to the grounds, Alistair landing with a muffled yell, Finell barely missing landing on top of him. “ _ Shit- _ ”

 

Mythal seems to be watching over them.With their crash to the ground, the Venatori patrol cannot see them past the height of the hedge. They appear from the castle, lacking the urgency Finell feared - just another patrol like the one they ran into before.

 

“Shh,” she hisses as Alistair struggles to right himself “Don’t move.”

 

“Wha-”

 

“ _ Shh _ !”

 

The patrol makes a quick pass of the gates before disappearing up into the winds of the Manor again. Alistair stills and holds his breath until the torchlight disappears into another pathway.

 

“At least…. now we know there’s  _ definitely _ Venatori here,” he whispers. Finell didn’t realise their closeness with his breath hot against her cheek. “Grazham can come and utterly decimate them.”

 

“Not before we get you somewhere safe first,” she whispers, letting that sweetness he crooned about touch her voice, before climbing slowly to her feet. For now, the guards are gone - it’s the optimal time to flee. “Okay to walk again?”

 

“Legs are jelly,” he murmurs in reply.

 

“Jelly?”

 

“They feel funny.”

 

That is slightly alarming, reminding her of the hammering of Alistair’s heart. He will be okay. “Then let’s get you up. I have an injury kit; we just need to get back to the horses across the way.”

 

It’s harder than last time; Alistair is nearly a deadweight against her. Their pace is slower than before, but they eventually make it to the clearing where their horses still graze. The Manor is just within view between the trees where Finell sets him down against the closest one. He’s motionless until she returns and crouches haphazardly in front of him, his face screwed up in pain.

 

He jives, “I’ve decided….  _ lightning _ is definitely my least favourite mage area.” His eyes are more glassy than before, and half-lidded, with tiredness visibly pulling on him. “ _ Shocking _ , huh?”

 

“You are ridiculous.”

 

“And in  _ a lot _ of pain. Please… take pity on me.”

 

Finell has to shake her head to keep herself steady while she applies the injury kit. Pulling away his robes reveals what she initially feared: red, inflamed skin with lightning patterned in a criss-cross all down his chest and right arm. There will be nerve damage or muscle damage - both of which are not good and need the attention of a healer, not just her shaking hands.

 

“What is it,” he prods, the first words he’s said while she’s been gently tending to his shoulder.

 

“It just looks bad,” she answers, eyes fixed to his wound, which is now layered with concentrated elfroot ointment. Gently, she applies the compress bandage, eliciting a hiss. In the painful few moments it takes for his eyes to refocus on Finell’s face she cradles his cheek to help re-centre him. “And,” she adds, “I’m worried about you.”

 

It’s Alistair’s turn to snort, though it’s more of a slow chuckle. “So sweet,” he croons.

 

Her thumb wanders down his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw, then settles on his injured shoulder to check the compress one final time. It’s as good as the injury kit is going to get without a mage, and as good as Alistair will be until he’s ready to travel. That won’t be until morning - and so close to the Manor, they can’t risk a fire.

 

Of course, such is life glued to Alistair Theirin.

 

“I’m going to get our blankets from the horses,” she says softly, straightening. “Then we’re going to try get some sleep; you’re in no condition to travel.”

 

He protests immediately, shifting from his position against the tree, but only sits halfway up. His shoulder stops him, his arm cradled limply in his lap. “Okay,” he says, eyes following her as she searches their packs, “maybe you  _ are _ right. Just this once.”

 

There are two blankets, both of which she tucks around them before settling against Alistair’s good side. It was awfully reminiscent of their time at the party camp all those years ago, pressed up against each other in their tents. All that is missing is the crackle of a fire and the odd Mabari.

 

“Hey, Fin,” he murmurs as the silence stretches, leaning closer to nuzzle her head underneath his chin. She obliges, letting her eyes fall closed, listening to the sounds of his breath and the rumble of his chest as he continues, “thank you for taking care of me. I know you do it a lot, and sometimes I feel like…. like I’m the luckiest man alive. Running into you again, after everything that happened. And you’re still there, this big, strong leader. Helping me and everyone out of any sticky situation.”

 

“Alistair,” she says in return, and he stiffens. “It’s  _ okay _ . I’m just relieved you’re safe. Now, and every time before that.”

 

Then he relaxes, shifting so she can hear the beat of his heart, too, steadier than before. “Thank you,” he says again, softer this time, as he starts to immediately drift off. The rest will be good for him, and will hopefully strengthen him enough to travel in the morning.

 

“Always,” she whispers in return against his chest, and the beat of his heart helps count her to sleep:  _ one-two…. one-two…. one-two… _

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading x


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